Memories Are Made of This
by museme87
Summary: For a werewolf, life has never been so perfectly complete. Remus/Sirius  AU


**Warnings: **Sirius and Remus have a biological child (no mentions of mpreg)

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Nights like these make Remus wish he had a Time-Turner so that he might revisit them whenever life becomes a little too stressful, a little too depressing. It's the simplicity of things that captures him, pulls him from merely existing in the moment to understanding it's worth.

Sirius lounges on the couch, one knee brought to his chest. The toes of his other foot dig into and wiggle against the carpet as he watches the telly, which still entrances him even though they've had it for over a year now. Sirius' fingers toy with the tips of hair at Remus' nape, and Remus is half appreciative of it and half annoyed, depending on whether Sirius' fingertips brush just lightly enough to tickle him.

He's undeniably handsome, and Remus wonders if his stomach will ever stop fluttering when he _really_ looks at Sirius, whether one day his eyes will stop seeking him out hungrily. It's Sirius' profile that gets him—the curve of his forehead, the slope of hi s straight nose, the fullness of his lips, the strength of his chin. And then there's the stubble that darkens his jaw—something that Remus has grown to adore rather than bemoan when he feels it against his cheek.

Catching Remus looking at him from the corner of his eye, Sirius turns, his brow furrowed just enough to ask his question. Remus shakes his head in response. Sirius' expression softens, his lips pull up fondly, and Remus feels Sirius' hand on the back of his neck. His fingers are Quidditch-calloused, the friction of which Remus delights in. And the coldness from Sirius' wedding band makes his skin tingle pleasantly.

It seems like they exchanged the rings so long ago. And with quick calculation, Remus realizes that it _has_ been a long time—ten years this year. They were both so fantastically stupid and young that night in their old flat. Sirius asked him, and he said yes. And at nineteen, in a small study with no witnesses or Ministry approved documents and only a pair of rings, they promised themselves to each other. Though if Remus wants to be honest with himself, they promised themselves to each other long before that December.

"I love you."

Sirius' lips form the words voicelessly, and Remus returns them, careful not to make a peep. Al's been sick all week with some sort of flu and, for what seems like the first time in days, appears to have fallen asleep. It's an occasion to be celebrated because when Al doesn't sleep, neither do they. Remus finds it funny that now, as parents to an almost-four-year-old, they value sleep far more than they do shagging. Oh how the mighty have fallen.

"Is he completely out?" Sirius asks in a barely there whisper.

Remus sits up just slightly to get a better view of his son. Al's grey eyes, earlier fixed on the telly like his father's, are now closed. Remus can feel his whole body relax and give a sigh of relief.

"He's out."

Sirius' own relief is painfully apparent. "Thank the gods. I adore the tyke, but he was positively wicked last night."

Remus looks down at their son, his small head pillowed on his lap, and wonders how such a cute child can be such a terror sometimes. He thinks, in part, it has something to do with his father being Sirius Black.

Just as it's hard to believe that he and Sirius have been married for nearly ten years, it's hard to think of Al as being nearly four. He is a product of a doctored potion, risky choices, and selfish decisions. But most importantly, Altair Black—named after a star in Black tradition—is the product of their love for one another.

He is ounce for ounce Sirius—grey eyes, black hair, high cheekbones, long lashes, fair skin—which makes him ounce for ounce a Black. Orion and Walburga are likely tormented in death knowing that their grandson—their _only_ grandchild—is the result from their prodigal son's union with a "Mudblood halfbreed". Al's Uncle Regulus, however, finds more joy in his nephew than either Orion or Walburga ever could have.

While it's harder to see, he is a Lupin too, though more in personality than looks. Al inherited Remus' lips and ears and, from the look of things, will probably be lanky like him rather than tall and filled-out like Sirius. But more than that, Al inherited his more laid back disposition, for which Remus is eternally grateful to God. One Sirius is enough for this family; two would wreck havoc on this household like a natural disaster.

"Love?"

Remus looks up, pulling from his reverie, to find Sirius standing. "Sorry?"

"I said, do you want me to put Al to bed?"

"Probably best. Five Galleons says we're up by midnight."

Sirius leans down and takes Al under his arms, lifting the boy to his shoulder. For a moment, there's tension in the air—will he wake or won't he?—but Al only stirs briefly, muttering something about "footie" and "penguins", before drifting back to sleep against his father's shoulder.

"You mean, _you're_ up by midnight. I need my beauty rest. This kid is giving me premature wrinkles, marring this gorgeous face."

Remus rolls his eyes. "Fine, I'll take the first shift."

"Oh, and ten Galleons says you're up no later than eleven," Sirius says both quietly and smugly with his victory, walking towards the steps and up to Al's bedroom.

.

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After Remus thinks to put out Al's medicine for that inevitable wake-up call, he goes upstairs. As he's about to slip past Al's room to get to the bath, he pauses in the doorway. Sirius is speaking quietly, and then he hears Al's small voice.

The nightlight on the wall illuminating them, Remus watches Al's small arms wrap around Sirius' neck and into a hug. Sirius kisses his head, smoothing Al's black locks—cut exactly to Sirius' style and length at Al's insistence—comfortingly.

Remus thinks, drinking in the picture of his husband and son, that his life is sweeter now than he could have ever possibly dreamed it would be.


End file.
